


Raised You Up

by whichstiel



Series: Raised you from perdition [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Castiel Saves Dean Winchester From Hell, Castiel in a Female Vessel, Fem!Cas, Female Castiel, Gen, Hell, M/M, Vessels, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Castiel has possessed Joanna, his female vessel, for years by the time the mission comes around to harrow Hell and save Dean Winchester. He's ultimately successful in his mission. Dean Winchester is saved. His vessel doesn't survive the assault on Hell, however, and he's forced to find a new vessel in Jimmy Novak before he can speak to Dean again.





	Raised You Up

_"I was the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."_

 

**Dean**

The soul on the rack had stopped whimpering hours ago. Or maybe it had been days. Time was fluid down in Hell. Meaningless. The quiet meant that the intruder was as obvious as an elephant stomping through a pumpkin patch. “What,” Dean snapped, running his blade along a blue tangle of veins and nerve endings, trying to elicit some response - any response. He grimaced at it, half jealous of the soul’s ability to somehow disengage from Dean’s torture and half terrified that his failure meant that Alistair would throw him back on the rack in its stead. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

He jabbed the knife into the nerve bundle and pulled it taut. His blade flashed silver against the blue and he stretched it just a little bit further until it snapped. The body on the rack flinched and Dean relaxed over it, his breath ghosting over the rack. Now they were back on track. 

There was still an intruder in the room and Dean snapped at them irritably. “Tell him I’m still working on this one.”

“Dean Winchester,” the intruder said. Her voice was low, almost gravely as though smoke roughened and weary. “Dean Winchester?” This time it was raised in question and Dean looked up. 

The woman hovering by the door had piercing eyes so blue they almost seemed to glow. She wore a high collared white shirt and dove gray pants colored half black from old blood. Armor coated her chest like it had been poured over her body as molten silver and had now cooled to hug every curve intimately. Her hair desperately clung to the remains of a high bun, clumps of it dangling down to wrap around her bloodied shoulders. She clutched a short silver sword in her hand, held in front of her in defensive readiness. When Dean blinked and opened his eyes again, she had somehow crossed the room and had that sword point tipped into the hollow of his throat.

“Dean Winchester,” she growled applying pressure with her sword. “It is you.”

Dean froze, fingers flexing around the handle of his bloodied knife. “Yeah,” he said warily. “And you are?”

The sword point dug into his throat and he hissed at the unexpected pain. The blade felt like pure light and Dean entertained for a moment the thought of collapsing into it. He wondered if he sunk on to the blade if this could destroy his soul or if he would simply spring into being again as he did every time he “died” here. Dean swallowed against the blade tip.

The woman narrowed her eyes to slivers. “Put down the knife,” she said. Dean raised his brows, trying his damnedest to look surprised and innocent. _Knife? What knife?_ She slipped her blade along the edge of his jaw and he actually cried out at the pain as it cut him, it was so bright and unexpected. “Put. It. Down.”

Dean grimaced, brain scurrying ahead to try to puzzle out a way to get on top of the situation and get back to working over the soul on the rack before Alistair returned. He flashed her his most brilliant grin, striving for every inch of cocksure flirt he had left to him. She blinked at him - a tiny reaction, but it was there. 

Dean dropped the knife.

 

**Castiel**

Hell was a warren of sin and suffering and they’d hidden Dean Winchester’s soul down at the bottom of it. Castiel had seen the better portion of his garrison decimated during the assault. They’d been in the pits of Hell for years now, slowly picked away by demons. The light of his brothers and sisters bled into the stench of Hell like an electrical charge. In his madder times when he found himself crammed into a crevice trying to outwit demonic patrols, he’d even thought he felt traces of them brush against him. Memories of them sometimes traveled along his scalp, raising the fine hairs at the back of his head. Whenever that happened he would take his hands and gather up the long hair of his vessel, then wind it carefully back against his skull until it was bound so tightly that it pulled at his skin. Then he would take up his sword and plunge back into the fray.

A lock of hair fell across his brow as he faced down the tattered soul of Dean Winchester. Castiel resisted the urge to brush it away, furious suddenly at the human mannerism he’d adopted from his vessel in the close confines of Hell. Their lofty mission was to harrow Hell and pull the elder Winchester out of it before he fell and turned a blade on other souls. However, if the scene Castiel walked in on was any evidence, they’d failed at their mission. Somewhere above this stinking pit the apocalypse had begun. 

Castiel pressed his blade against the man’s throat and watched his soul pulse against it. Dean’s soul was fractured, red fire bled into cracks born from pain and fear. The dull gray of hopelessness seemed to cover every inch of him and the man twisted his face into a grin that cracked like a sour lemon. Castiel flinched against it, blinking away the glimpse of bottomless, hollow despair he’d seen for just a moment.

Dean dropped his knife and it thudded dully against the barely cognizant soul on the rack before slipping off and clattering against the rough stone floor. “Who the hell are you?” Dean asked, his face still settled in a pleasant mask. “Does Alistair know you’re here?”

Castiel blinked in surprise. “I should hope not,” he said. “I’m an angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel and I’m here to rescue you.”

Of all the reactions Castiel had expected - tears, relief - he hadn’t predicted laughter. Dean laughed against his blade, seemingly heedless of the tiny nicks he received in the process. “Sure. Of fucking course. Where’s the cameras, man?”

Castiel cocked his head to one side. “Cameras?”

“This is a test right? Well I ain’t gonna fuckin’ fail. So you can drop your little sword there, lady, and let me get back to work.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, a note of shock creeping into his voice. “I’m here to rescue you,” he said again, as though Dean might have simply not heard him the first time. 

“Sure, yeah. That’s why you got a blade on my throat.” 

Castiel hesitated, then drew back his blade an inch. He didn’t like the look in Dean’s eye. It was too wild, unhinged no doubt by his suffering in Hell. “You will come with me now,” he said, hating the tone of uncertainty that seemed to have snuck into his reply. 

Dean leaned into his blade, green eyes boring into his own, and sneered. “I’m staying here.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m. Staying. Here.” Dean spoke very slowly and loudly, as though Castiel were hard of hearing. 

“But I’m…” Castiel stared at the man, speechless. Nothing, apparently, was going to go as planned with this rescue. “I will escort you safely from Hell. Resurrect you on Earth.”

Dean laughed at that. “Oh well. That’s just what Earth needs.” His shoulders shuffled and Castiel glanced down briefly at Dean’s hands. He looked just long enough to notice Dean’s long fingers twisting around each other, shaking.

_Remind him of what he misses from Earth_ , a voice within him said. Castiel narrowed his eyes and thought.

“Dean,” Castiel said at last, in a gentler voice this time. “You will be returned to life. Given a second chance. You will be back with your friends. Your…family.” At that word, Dean’s breath hitched and Castiel pressed his advantage. “You have a brother,” he said.

“Sam.”

 

**Dean**

_Sam._ The only reason Dean had to pull himself from the endless well of stinking tar he’d sunk himself into. He followed Castiel, supposed angel of the Lord, out of the torture room that had become Dean’s residence for the past thirty or forty odd years. Walking through the doorway, Dean felt a little sick. Alistair excelled at appearing when Dean was feeling most human - most vulnerable. Now, with this shining woman warrior pressing him carefully through Hell’s close caverns, Dean expected to see Alistair at every turn. 

The corridors appeared to be empty. They twisted for miles down here. Dean had managed to escape his own rack a couple of times. He’d burrowed through the tunnels then. At first, he’d entertained ideas of finding a doorway out of Hell like his father had done. He’d plotted side by side with a demon for only a week before the demon sold him out to Alistair with a delighted chuckle and a raised middle finger. In subsequent attempts, Dean had simply tried to hide for as long as possible, desperate for respite from the ceaseless agony inflicted on him. Dean hoped that this so-called angel knew the way out because otherwise they’d both be captured.

Suddenly Castiel pressed Dean against the wall. Her fingers twisted into Dean’s collar ( _metaphysical collar_ , Dean thought a little hysterically) and then he was being shoved into a crack in the stone hardly bigger than himself. Dean wedged himself into the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. Something almost akin to a prayer ran through his mind. If they found him here, he was trapped. If they found him here, wedged in this stone, they would cut him out piece by piece and carry him back to his room. Built him back up. Tear him back down. Dean opened his eyes and wished his knife did more than flay souls.

In the corridor, Castiel grunted. The light was dim and Dean could only make out flashes of the fight between Castiel and at least five demons. Light flashed fire bright and so did Castiel’s silver blade. At last it was quiet again and Castiel peered into Dean’s crevice and extended one bloody hand. Carefully, Dean reached out and took it, allowing Castiel to pull him out. Her hand wrapped around his own, warm and solid and reassuring. Dean almost collapsed right there, sunk in relief and gratitude. Something warm kindled in his chest like a spark of hope. If this was a precursor to torture, Dean had to hand it to Alistair. It would hurt very badly, in the end.

The eye-blacked bodies of dead demons decorated the passageway and Dean nudged one of them with his toe. “You killed it?” he asked hopefully. 

Castiel turned her somber gaze towards him. “I’ve killed countless. There will be more.” She craned her neck up as though to look up a steep cliff. “It’s a long way out.”

“That…that was pretty awesome.” He shifted awkwardly for a moment, the next words hovering on the tip of his tongue. The last time he’d said them he’d been weeping and dragging himself off of a stone table. “Thank you.”

Castiel rolled her eyes but something like a pleased smile cracked her stern countenance. “Of course, Dean.”

 

**Castiel**

It was a long way up. 

Castiel lost track of how many demons they encountered. He wanted to take them by the shoulders and scream at them that their fight no longer mattered. Dean Winchester had broken, just as Hell had set out to do. The apocalypse was started and now the fight for the fate of the world above fell to the archangels. Yet, he could not let himself give in to such despair. Hell, surely, had begun to infect him just as it had infected Dean Winchester if he thought for even a moment that this was fruitless. _The righteous man will end it as well_ , he reminded himself. There was still time to stop the gears turning to free Lucifer. 

There was still time for all of that - provided he could find his way out of Hell before his vessel failed him. Pain bloomed again in his shoulder as he twisted to survey the path before them. Castiel suppressed a wince. In the depths of Hell his Heaven-sent powers were incredibly weak. The ability to fly had been the first to fail his garrison, but soon after that had followed their second best battle asset: the gift of healing. Irritably, Castiel brushed hair from his face.

“Why don’t you cut it?”

The question was so unexpected that Castiel stopped surveying the terrain ahead and turned to look back at Dean. “Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you cut it off?” Dean brushed a finger along the stray lock of hair. “If it bothers you.”

Castiel shook his head. “She wouldn’t like it.”

“She?” Dean’s brows were raised in curiosity and Castiel scowled at him and gestured sharply for him to follow. 

Dean followed him, his soul glowing with curiosity and Castiel made sure to keep his eyes forward. With hope lighting him up, Dean’s soul shone golden bright. Sometimes it hurt to look too long and in those times, Castiel looked inward instead, and found solace there. _He’s very attractive,_ an inner voice said. “Stop it,” Castiel said aloud, then shook his head back at Dean to indicate that he should ignore his words. Castiel beckoned him forward, onward, upward out of the pit.

Dean followed him and fought alongside him. He was a brave soldier, a strong warrior, and Castiel found a steadily blooming respect for the man. They shared strategy in glances and fought around each other as though they’d danced together for a thousand years. The gates of Hell seemed leagues away but there were times, looking into Dean Winchester's eyes, when it didn't matter.

 

**Joanna**

Joanna Cavendish prayed. 

She prayed for rain and for a good crop of wheat. She prayed that the horse might foal and the creek not flood its banks. She prayed for an end and a beginning and salvation from her staid country life. Joanna Cavendish prayed to the universe for a miracle. She didn’t just want to witness a miracle. Joanna didn’t crave a tale to tell her grandchildren. She wanted to _become_ that miracle. To hurtle through the world bright as a shooting star. She prayed to the Lord for a divine mission. She prayed for escape.

Castiel heard her prayer. 

He spoke to her in his true voice and her soul split into a thousand blooms at the first touch of his Word. He had a holy mission for her, should she wish to accept it. Joanna, with tears in her eyes and a beatific smile on her face, agreed.

 

** Castiel **

A band of three demons attacked. They swarmed on them almost as though they’d been waiting all thirty years for just such an opportunity. Castiel whirled to meet them, Dean at his back. Together they slashed their way through the demons until three broken souls lay extinguished around them.

Castiel’s legs buckled beneath him and he found himself gasping with his knees pressed into the ground, his blade somehow out of his fingers and resting several feet away. He slowly became aware that Dean hunched beside him. Dean seemed to be shouting in his ear and Castiel shook his head to clear out the ringing. 

“Are you okay? Talk to me.” Dean had a look of terrified worry on his face. Castiel smiled at him and felt blood slip from his mouth.

Castiel’s surroundings swam again. In the next moment of clarity he found himself lying against a wall. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said, trying to pat him on the shoulder but somehow missing entirely. “My injuries are severe. I may have less time than I— Than I—“ Dean scrabbled at Castiel’s high collar, ripping away the buttons until he could expose his vessel’s chest beneath the silver armor. Black cracks bloomed along her skin, the spreading fault lines spelling their shared demise. 

“You’re an angel. How are you hurt?”

Castiel gasped at a arrow of pain somewhere in the vicinity of their digestive tract. “This is a vessel,” he explained, ignoring the twist of surprise and disgust that crossed Dean’s features. “But I cannot protect her entirely so far from Heaven. It’s been a long fight. If I can’t make it out, this will be the end. You should go. Find— Find the door. A reaper will find you and raise you up.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, eyes wide and frightened. “No way am I leaving you here and you ain’t dying here either.” 

Castiel smiled. He could feel it strongly now. His vessel was disintegrating rapidly. If he lost her in Hell her soul would eventually be free, led by a reaper to Heaven. But he would die quickly, a weakened vessel-less angel exposed to hell fire. He wondered if any of his brothers or sisters wandered this maze still. Perhaps they would be able to finish Castiel’s mission. Perhaps they would be able to save Dean Winchester.

Castiel closed his eyes.

 

**Dean**

Dean watched Castiel’s eyes slip closed. Thick crimson coated her chin and neck and blended into the eerie black cracks creeping towards her throat. He’d thought he had entirely lost the capacity to feel emotions. So many cold hours had been spent in methodical torture, numbing himself to his own pain or the pain of others. Dean thought he’d gone mad and lost the entirety of his soul years ago. Yet here he was, scrambling to pull up Castiel, looping her arm around his shoulder, and telling her grimly, “I’m gonna get you out of here.” Somehow she'd become important to him and the part of his soul that had feebly struggled to regrow under the light of her smile threatened to crack at the possibility that she might not make it out alongside himself.

He didn't deserve her. 

He set out for the exit they’d pinpointed, the weight of the angel leaning against him feeling lighter with every step. Dean hurried towards the gateway and demons at last stood back from them like parting waves, watching them go with night black eyes. He didn’t question their sudden ceasefire. He only ran.

“Come on, Cas,” he muttered. “Stay with me. We’re almost there.”

 

**Castiel**

“You shouldn’t speak to it,” Castiel said to Benjamin. They were sitting on a shadowed dock late at night on the coast of France. The limbs of humans who had hours before borne demons lay scattered across the wooden planking. Benjamin dribbled his feet in the water, his boots and stockings off and set into a clumsy pile beside him.

Benjamin smiled. “You should.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, sighing quietly. The night filled with the gentle splashing noise of his toes against the water. “She loves this. And because she does, I do too.”

Castiel scowled. “We’re angels. We do not love, except that we love God.”

“Castiel. Did you not speak with your vessel before you took up residence?”

Castiel looked down at his vessel’s long legs drawn up in a neat knot on the dock. “I did.”

“And was she not worthy?”

“She was,” Castiel conceded. “She is devout.”

“Then why would you not wish to speak with her now? Why must the prayerful exchange cease with possession? Truly, it is akin to Heaven, communing with these creatures.”

“Benjamin,” Castiel said, trying to be shocked at his blasphemy. They sat quietly then. Benjamin, Castiel suspected, was not at all repentant. Listen to his vessel? Talk to her? The very idea was anathema. Yet Benjamin seemed entirely content and utterly free of guilt. Eventually, Castiel’s mouth slipped into a crooked half smile. Perhaps he would try it. Just to see.

“Joanna?” he asked, looking inward. 

From the depths of his vessel, her soul stirred like a sleepy cat which seemed to purr as she resurfaced. “Castiel?”

 

**Joanna**

“I should be shivering,” Joanna said, arms bundling their skirts close to their legs. “I know you are preventing me from feeling the cold but honestly, Castiel.” Her laugh puffed out ghost white in the cool mountain air. “My brain continues to tell me otherwise.”

_I would never let harm fall to you, Joanna._ Castiel sounded amused. 

“Of course. Not the—“ Joanna cocked her head as though considering her conversational partner across a tea tray. “Not the great Castiel.”

Castiel laughed and Joanna grinned at the achievement of making her sometimes dour companion happy. She leaned back on their elbows letting the warm sun pool on their skin. ‘Oh, this is lovely. We should go to Africa next. I’ve always wanted to go.”

_I’m an angel, not a tour guide. I still have work to do for Heaven._

“And yet here we are, drinking in the sun and talking of wool quality and poetry.”

_For the last time, wool itches,_ Castiel said irritably. 

“You just haven’t gotten the right kind. My mother used to make some to trade that was simply divine. Trust me. You will enjoy it.”

The angel seemed to grumble, but with good nature. So Joanna closed their eyes and continued to while away the morning hours. In a way, she felt like a seductress, drawing Castiel from his mission to enjoy the world. In turn, she saw wonders she never knew existed. Being possessed by Castiel used to burn. She’d shriveled awayfrom it, tied up in her own little dreamlike ball of consciousness until he’d dredged her up that evening on the docks. Now, with both sides happy, the bond felt sweet. 

_I’ll admit, this is an improvement._

“You love me. Admit it.”

Their eyes rolled. _I am fond of you, at least._

“So, Africa?” Joanna said. “Let’s talk.”

 

**Castiel**

When the doors opened, when Dean Winchester’s soul was saved and Hell gave up its grip, Castiel filled with light. He cried out in holy ecstasy and unlooped his arm from Dean’s shoulder. Dean rushed to him, mouth open as though screaming questions, or his name. _Cas. Castiel._

It didn’t matter. Heaven’s light filled Castiel and his mouth strained open. He stumbled forward and his hand caught at Dean’s arm. The light burned through both of them for just a moment, until Castiel realized what he was doing and dropped his hand. Dean was left with his mouth gaping. “What happened?” Dean gasped. “Who are you?”

_Castiel._ The voice, gentle and quiet, came out of nowhere. Castiel recognized it instantly.

“Joanna,” he gasped. 

_Castiel,_ she said. _We’re dying, aren’t we?_

Castiel shook their head. “I’m no longer dying but you— I’m sorry. It may be too late.”

“I know. Promise me one thing, Castiel?” Castiel was so taken aback that she should ask him for anything that he immediately agreed. “Promise me that your next vessel will be one for whom it’s glorious. A calling, and not an escape.”

“Joanna.”

“You need a warrior, Castiel. You have a terrible fight ahead of you.”

Castiel felt Joanna breaking apart. He reached for Dean’s soul and gripped it once more. He flew them to Dean Winchester’s grave and raised the man even as he desperately tried to hold onto the tatters of Joanna’s body and her nearly fled soul. Hellfire burned in Joanna’s body, leaching through it like burning black mold. His hand burned as he set it to Dean’s shoulder and commanded him to breathe.

When it was at last done and he became aware of Dean Winchester somewhere in the world, drawing his first breath, Castiel gasped out, “Dean Winchester is saved,” then let her go. Joanna cracked apart, and Castiel fled into the firmament.

 

** Dean **

Forgetting must be a side effect of dying. Dean fumbled through the contents of the ratty service station, half crazed with hunger and thirst. He remembered every burning second of hell, of torture. But how the hell he escaped was beyond him. 

He should be grateful to be here walking the planet again. Instead, he grimaced at the feeling of grave dust on his fingers and cloying chocolate on his tongue. 

He was forgetting something important. It dangled just out of reach like a peach high up in a tree. It was like a chunk of him was missing suddenly.

_ Well. That's Hell for  _ _ you, _ he thought bitterly.

When the ringing in his ears started up, Dean let go of trying to chase his memories. There were more important things to focus on, after all.

**Castiel**

_Find a warrior._ Castiel sifted through prayers, through intentions ringing up through the heavens. On Earth, Dean pulled himself from the grave and walked for the first time in months along the solid ground. From above, Castiel could see that his work was good. He could also see the remains of Joanna, wrecked and burned in the woods near the grave. 

_Joanna._ Despite his misgivings she had become a friend. A confidant. She liked peaches and sitting with her back pressed against a tree watching the sunset. She sang to him, long songs from her youth as well as new songs. Songs they had discovered together. But becoming close came with a price, Castiel discovered. Her consciousness, once raised, was not so easily quashed. Hell had been terrible for her. The agony of it had spun around in them both like an echo chamber. Joanna had suffered a great deal in the fight. Castiel had been witness to every second of it, unable to prevent her from seeing through her own eyes, or feeling blades slicing through her skin.

He’d personally witnessed the reaper collect her soul. Joanna ascended into Heaven with bliss glowing gold across every particle of her being. She hadn’t seen him watching. Something in his chest hurt before he remembered that he no longer had a chest to feel pain. 

He hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, or to thank her. 

Or to apologize. For everything.

Castiel waited, the glad chorus of his brothers and sister ringing across his true self like waves in an ocean. They urged him to take another vessel and finish the work he had begun by shepherding Dean out of Hell. 

Castiel looked down at the Earth. _Take another vessel._ How could he when the memories of his last seemed to cut him to pieces? Losing Joanna had felt like losing a part of himself. He made up his mind. Castiel could set Dean Winchester on his mission without a vessel. They’d spoken in Hell, forged a connection. Dean Winchester was chosen. Castiel spoke to him. 

And spoke to him.

And spoke again.

_How many times will you try this, Castiel? Take a vessel,_ his siblings told him in increasing tones of irritation and impatience. It became an order, not a suggestion.

So Castiel chose a man who prayed to be taken for the glory of it. Glory, not escape - just as a warrior might pray. Once it was done, he flew. And finally, with Jimmy packed safely away deep within him, he spoke to Dean Winchester, and told him of his holy mission.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my detailed headcanon on this most sacred of Destiel days :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
